


lost in the crowd

by moonjuicewiththepresident



Series: tma [4]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Being Lost, Claustrophobia, M/M, Morality | Patton Sanders Angst, Morality | Patton Sanders Needs a Hug, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:07:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23709628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonjuicewiththepresident/pseuds/moonjuicewiththepresident
Summary: Patton began to think ‘how long has it been since I saw another person?’ Twenty minutes? An hour? Two hours? He hadn’t checked his watch, and his mind was foggy- it was hard to think in all the humidity. He went to take a drink from his water bottle to find it empty - had he finished it? He couldn’t have been searching for that long.
Relationships: Hinted Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/ Morality | Patton Sanders
Series: tma [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1707199
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	lost in the crowd

Travel has always been Patton’s passion. As a kid, his parents used to take his family on trips to this small cabin in Wales. He was very young at the time, maybe four or five, and the cabin wasn’t anything special, just cheap self-catering. It was all the holiday that his parents could afford, and he had to share a bunk-bed with his brat of an older brother, but every time they drove across that huge bridge from England into Wales, he got this rush of discovery, of exploration. Seeing new places, going further, traveling.

He’d never looked back since.

His parents didn’t have much money, so the first chance Patton really had to go beyond the U.K. was when he took a gap year. He’d saved for years to afford that trip, helped by inheritance from a distant grandmother, and he bought a bunch of interrail train tickets and spent almost four months rolling across Europe, never staying more than a few days in any one place, and heading on as soon as he got bored. There were nights that he was unable to find a hostel and ended up having to sleep on the streets and he’d even slept in a graveyard once.

Patton would pick up traveling companions for a few days here and there, but for the most part, he would spend weeks without speaking his own language. He had adventures and saw wonders, and got into more than a bit of trouble on occasion. It was the happiest he’d ever been.

Since then, travel has always been his main joy in life. He got out of university with a good maths degree and got a job as a programmer. It’s a life of well-paid drudgery, but he didn’t care. Because it meant once or twice a year, he could drop everything for a month and disappear somewhere new. The Grand Canyon, the Forbidden City, the Great Barrier Reef. That was his life. Everything in-between was just the intermission.

He supposed that was one of the reasons he’d always had such trouble with romance or even close friendships. He can never take them seriously because they weren’t a part of his “real” life. And in his real life, he traveled alone.

It’s a lot more dangerous, and people always told him how lonely it must have been, but it really wasn’t. There was a purity to being alone when you would travel. You could absorb the places you found yourself in so much better, take in the sights and the smells and the vibrations of a place in a way you just can’t if you have to be mindful of another person’s presence.

It wasn’t that Patton didn’t like other people, he did. He just couldn’t travel properly if he was with them. His 25th birthday, he decided to have another go at Europe. Obviously, he couldn’t do another four months but he figured that just the one would let him revisit his favorite spots in the south - Slovenia, Switzerland, Bavaria, Italy, maybe Monaco or parts of southern France.

He was lucky, as a September birthday, makes it pretty much the perfect time for European travel, and for the first weeks, he was having a wonderful time. Heading down into Italy and revisiting Venice, Rome, and the beautiful views of San Marino. He avoided going as far south as Naples, which he would recall as being a horrible place full of ugly smells and rude people and instead started traveling north again via Florence.

It was in a Florence hostel that he had met Roman. Roman was every inch the Australian traveler, tall and tan with slightly curly dirty blonde hair and a carefree attitude. Patton had met literally hundreds just like him in every hostel across the globe. But for some reason, he had really hit it off with Roman in a way Patton hadn’t with any others of his kind. When he talked about traveling, he talked about it the same way Patton did. He wasn’t going around for fun, or because that’s what every Australian does when they reach that age. He traveled because he had to. And like Patton, he said, he always traveled alone.

They spent a few nights together in the hostel, much to the irritation of the other guests. But as much as Patton enjoyed his company, he didn’t have any interest in traveling with him for long, and it seemed Roman felt the same way. It was with a sort of mutual unspoken discomfort that they found themselves ending up on the same train heading north. It seemed like it would’ve been rude not to at least not acknowledge each other, so they sat in the same compartment and stared out the window.

It was alright, actually. Each lost in their thoughts as the Italian countryside rolled past. 

They’d been traveling for about two hours when Roman looked over. “Are you stopping in Genoa?”

“No, I never really considered visiting,” Patton shook his head.

“Oh, it’s beautiful,” He said wistfully, a smile stretching over his face. “The coastline is absolutely gorgeous, all blue skies and narrow, winding lanes. You should come with me.”

Patton hesitated before nodding. It’s not like he had any plans anyway.

He was right. It was beautiful. The colorful houses climbing up the steep streets from the coast and the paths beside the sea.

The first day they stepped off the train, Patton fell a little bit in love with Genoa. They both checked into a hostel and for once decided to get a private room and dropped their backpacks from tired shoulders. They didn’t need to say anything to know they’d be exploring the city on their own. Roman would be revisiting cherished memories and Patton would be discovering new ones. But neither of them wanted to do so in company. Most of their time together was spent at night, dining, talking, or… otherwise engaged.

The first morning, Patton went for a long walk along the coast. The sea air was invigorating. And when the salt-tinged air sent cool fingers running through his hair, he felt so alive he nearly wept. Patton put all thoughts of returning to his dull, English life from my mind and relished his freedom.

There were a few others walking near me, but Italian is one of the few languages Patton had never managed to pick up even a small amount of, so their conversation was lost on him, and did not intrude on his precious isolation. As Roman and he talked that night, Patton tried to put it into words, but without any real success. Even here, with the time to compose it properly, he was still not sure he’d caught the essence of what he felt.

Roman, for his part, had told Patton of his explorations of the back streets of Genoa. He’d found himself in a small section of town that seemed older than the rest, he said, and unlike the rest of it, it was bustling. He suspected there might’ve been an out-of-the-way street market there, and was hoping to find it again tomorrow. Then they went to bed, and Patton got what may have been his last restful night.

The next day, he decided to find a nice local cafe and spend some time reading. It wasn’t difficult to do, as, if there’s one thing it’s easy to find in Italy, it’s coffee. This one was well-hidden and warmer than outside, even though the day was very hot for the time of year. He took a seat and ordered a coffee. He tried to read, but it was so warm that even with the strong coffee in his hand, Patton found it hard to keep his eyes open and kept nodding off. It was after one such accidental nap that he saw him.

He was pale, scrawny almost, and looked utterly out of place. His loose, bright shirt was in stark contrast to his long, black hair. He was staring at me in a way I found quite uncomfortable. He was used to creepy guys staring at him sometimes, but this was different. He was staring at Patton with an air of concentration. Like he was trying to read something written very small on his forehead.

After about a minute of this, he got up and walked over to him. He took the seat opposite and sat down. He was still staring at Patton, and it became clear that he was going to have to start the conversation. 

“Who are you?” Patton hesitantly asked. “What do you want?”

He ignored the first question completely and said “All I want is a nice holiday in peace.” He said it in almost an accusatory way, as if Patton had ruined it somehow.

“What?”

“I’m not in the business of helping stays,” He sighed.

“I don’t need your help and I certainly didn’t ask for it,” Patton stood up to leave.

“Sorry,” He winced. “I just thought you should know that you’ve been marked.” Patton was about to ask what, but the man cut him off. “I don’t know what, but it’s close.”

“Oh.” Patton frowned.

“Are you married? Have a fiance, partner, friends?” Patton shook his head and the man looked almost desperate. “Siblings?” Again, he shook his head. “Mother.”

“Of course I have a mother,” He frowned.

“Are you close?” He leaned in. “Do you love her?” Patton gave him a look and he asked again. “Are you two close?”

“Yes, we’re very close,” Patton got up and walked away.

As he walked away, he could hear the man call after him. “Remember your mother, keep her face in your mind!”

Patton didn’t reply.

Roman didn’t return to the hostel that night. At first, Patton assumed he was simply out drinking late, but as evening turned into night and that night turned into morning, he started to get a little worried. It was none of his business, of course, but Genoa wasn’t an all-night party sort of town. Patton would’ve assumed he’d maybe just headed on without him, but his backpack was still in their room, untouched.

He wanted to dismiss it as paranoia, but his encounter with the weirdo in the cafe had left him a bit rattled. When the sun came up on the third day in Genoa without any sign of Roman, Patton decided to go out and look for him.

His first move was to try and locate that street market he’d mentioned. Perhaps it wasn’t just hidden away, perhaps it had been actually illegal, and he’d gotten caught up in something he shouldn’t have. He’d given Patton a good idea of the rough area of Genoa it’d been in, so he started my search there. He found nothing. Asking around just yielded a barrage of confused Italian from passers-by who Patton couldn’t talk to.

So he just kept walking. Morning turned into afternoon and the previously sunny day became overcast and oppressive. He would occasionally half-heartedly shout out Roman’s name, though he didn’t know what he was expecting.

At first, this got Patton annoyed shouts from nearby windows, then glares, and eventually, they got no response at all. The streets he was walking were narrower and narrower, and the houses and buildings next to him seemed to get taller with each turning he made, their previously vibrant colors muted under the cloudy sky. The afternoon was completely silent.

Patton began to think ‘how long has it been since I saw another person?’ Twenty minutes? An hour? Two hours? He hadn’t checked his watch, and his mind was foggy- it was hard to think in all the humidity. He went to take a drink from his water bottle to find it empty - had he finished it? He couldn’t have been searching for that long.

Then he heard it from up ahead. The dull murmuring of a crowd of people, that rolling babble of incomprehensible noise that only comes from dozens of voices talking at once. Relief washed over Patton and he headed towards the noise.

The street he was heading towards was wider than those that he’d just been walking and seemed better lit somehow. Best of all Patton could see a constant flow of people traveling down it in both directions. Perhaps this was the street market Roman had mentioned. He stumbled out into it and began to look around. He couldn’t see any stalls or shops, or anything that might explain the presence of so many people, but he didn’t have time to really think about it before they started bumping into him.

It didn’t seem deliberate, but there were so many people, far more than he had thought at first, and they couldn’t move without jostling or pushing Patton. The flow of people dragged him this way and that and he was surrounded by that noise, that mumbling noise of the crowd.

Now that he was inside, though, Patton realized it wasn’t Italian being spoken, or English, or any other language he recognized. The more he listened, the more he realized it wasn’t a language. There were no words, it was just noise. Just a noise being made by the people around him. And he started to focus on those people. 

And that’s when Patton began to scream.

Their faces were a blur, each and every one of them. It was like someone had recorded them screaming or having a seizure, and then played it back at a hundred times the speed on their face. None of them had hair or any distinguishing marks, and though their clothes were different, they were all different versions of the same clothes.

He tried to talk to them or to shout, to scream at them, but there was no reaction. He tried to push, to punch, or kick them, but they were pressed in too tight, and he couldn’t do anything except getting buffeted this way and that by them.

This crowd of people, they weren’t people. It was just a crowd. A crowd without any people in it and Patton was still completely alone. It was then that, as he felt his grip begin to slide, and he worried that he would lose himself to the crowd forever, that the words of that strange man in the coffee shop came to his mind.

Think of your mother. And he did. He thought of her face, the smell of her perfume, the long rambling phone calls made whenever we got the chance. Patton closed his eyes and remembered in as much detail and with as much love as he could muster in his despair.

He didn’t notice when the bodies around him stopped pushing, or when the droning sound of the crowd stopped. Eventually, Patton opened his eyes again. It was night and he was on a street he didn’t recognize, with an old Italian couple staring at him like he had gone mad. It took him another hour to find his way back to the hostel. And he made sure he was always in sight of at least one other person.

He didn’t search for Roman any further. He had as much of an answer as he was going to get and left Roman’s backpack in the hostel in case he ever made it back to collect. Patton doubted he did.

Patton cut his travels short after that, came back by as direct a route as he could, and spent some time at his mother’s house. He hadn’t been traveling since, but he had some time off coming up and would like to head out again. He might see if he could find a friend to come with him, though. It might be a while before he’s ready to travel on his own again.


End file.
